


Collar Full of Chemistry

by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - White Collar Fusion, Consulting Criminal Leonard Snart, Domestic Fluff, F/M, FBI Agent Barry Allen, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, but also angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8072971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/pseuds/asexual-fandom-queen
Summary: The first time Leonard Snart’s file crosses Barry Allen’s desk, it contains neither a face, nor a name. He’s known only by a laundry list of crimes decades in the making and an official Bureau moniker, Captain Cold.
Written for Coldflash Big Bang 2016Inspired by White Collar





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! I'm so excited to be contributing to this year's Coldflash Big Bang. And who doesn't love a good White Collar AU? School got busier than I anticipated, so this fic will be broken up into two parts, with the second part being going up for ColdWestAllen Week this November. A bit of a delay, I know, but it's what I can manage. 
> 
> A big thanks to [tokbee](http://tokbee.tumblr.com/), [coldflashwave-baby](http://coldflashwave-baby.tumblr.com/), and [nixie-deangel](http://nixie-deangel.tumblr.com/) for all their help with workshopping ideas and reading stuff over. Couldn't have done it without y'all! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Be sure to leave kudos and comments if you do. They always make my day! 
> 
> Title taken from [Collar Full](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZAIEAG6Vgk) by Panic! At The Disco

The first time Leonard Snart’s file crosses Barry Allen’s desk, it contains neither a face, nor a name. He’s known only by a laundry list of crimes decades in the making and an official Bureau moniker, Captain Cold. 

“It’s because he’s primarily a diamond thief,” Cisco explains as they wait for acid water coffee to drip through the machine in the bullpen’s tiny kitchenette. “Get it? Captain Cold. Because he steals  _ ice _ .” 

“Yeah, I got it, Cisco,” Barry chuckles. Finally, the coffee’s ready, and Barry pours himself a mug. “But why me?” he continues. “I’m only a junior agent. This guy is a pro.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Cisco balks. “Do you know how many of us would kill to have that assignment? If Captain Cold is a gift horse, then you are looking him right in the mouth, my friend.” 

Still, Barry isn’t entirely satisfied. So, at the end of the day, he taps anxiously on the door to the SSA’s office and waits to be let in. 

“What is it, Allen?” 

“Um, I was wondering if you had a minute to speak with me, sir,” Barry squeaks. 

Joe West looks up for the blue folder gripped loosely in his hands and sighs. Glasses perched low on his nose, he eyes Barry critically, and Barry gulps. 

“Go on,” West says, and Barry nearly trips over himself in his rush to speak. 

“I was just wondering about the Captain Cold case,” he stammers, hands coming down heavy on the back of a chair as he loses his footing. 

West rolls his eyes. 

“I was wondering,” Barry continues. “Sir,” he adds belatedly. “Why I’ve been assigned to the case.” 

West raises an eyebrow. “Do you not want to be assigned to the case?” he asks. 

“No, no,” Barry says. “Not at all. It’s just, I’m wondering why you gave it to me, is all. Of all the agents in this office, I’m hardly the most qualified. I guess I was just worried…” 

Barry trails off uncertainly, but West fills in the blanks. “That I gave you this case because you’ve started dating my daughter?” 

Lamely, Barry shrugs. “Well, yeah,” he says. 

West glares. 

“And then he just laughed me right out of his office,” Barry explains to Iris later that evening. The pair are at dinner, crammed into the back of an overcrowded bistro. The table is barely big enough for both of their entrée plates to sit comfortably, but the way their knees knock together under the white linen tablecloth makes Barry think it might all be worth it.  

Iris laughs, too. “Are you serious?” she sputters. Long, slender fingers move to cover her mouth as bits of tomato try valiantly to make their escape. “We’re talking about a man who calls himself  _ Agent Hardass _ .”

Barry’s eyes widen. “He started that?” he asks. “I always assumed it was some disgruntled junior agent.” 

“What can I say?” Iris replies with a shrug. “That’s Dad for you.” 

They’re quiet for a moment as Barry picks at his steak. Finally, Iris breaks the silence with a long, profound sigh. “Listen, Barry,” she says. “My father and I have a great relationship, okay? He doesn’t have to butter me up by playing favourites with the guy I’m dating.” 

This time, it’s Barry’s turn to laugh. “That’s what your dad said,” he replies. “Almost verbatim, actually.” 

Iris shrugs. “Like father like daughter,” she suggests. 

“I don’t know,” Barry chuckles. “I think your dad is scarier.” 

Iris smirks. “That’s only because you haven’t seen me angry yet.” 

And so, dinner turns into drinks, which turns into breakfast, which soon escalates to an honest to goodness adult relationship. The first time Barry blows Iris off for work, he expects righteous indignation. What he doesn’t expect is for her to swing by the office with a tray of actual, palatable coffee and kind words of encouragement. 

“I’m an FBI agent’s daughter,” she says by way of explanation when Barry gives her a curious look. She hands him his coffee - black, three sugars, just the way he likes it. “When you have to work, you have to work. I know it’s not personal.” 

And while Barry knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help but show Iris the open file on Captain Cold, strictly off the record, of course. She’s a journalist with Central City Picture News, and giving her unfettered access to an ongoing White Collar investigation is probably career suicide, but he finds himself craving her input. She’s sharp, putting things together in ways he never could, an investigator in her own right. 

“Have you tried cross-referencing the dates of the thefts with other events happening around the cities where the items were stolen?” Iris suggests, brow furrowed, teeth worrying her lip, as she pores over the file. “I exposed a dirty cop by doing that once. He would always extort money from strip clubs whenever conventions would come into town, because that’s when they were busiest. Plus, it was the easiest way to find high profile blackmail targets.” 

Barry’s face lights up in a wicked smile. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he says. “It’s a great idea, though. I think Cisco even has an algorithm we can use.” 

As it turns out, the algorithm needs to be tweaked, so Barry and Iris spend the rest of the evening spitballing other ideas as Cisco works on the fix. It’s nearing one o’clock in the morning when the teams decides to call it a night, but neither Iris nor Barry want to go home yet. Instead, they set up in an all-night cafe down the street and keep theorizing. 

At first, the theories are grounded and logical and tie directly into the case, but as exhaustion sets in, they take a different turn. 

“What do you think he’s like?” Iris asks dopely as she sips from a giant mug of chamomile tea. She’s got her unfocused gaze trained on the barista behind the counter, and Barry frowns in confusion. 

“The coffee guy?” he asks. 

Iris laughs. “No,” she says. “Captain Cold. What do you think he’s like?” 

Barry clears his throat. “Um, well,” he beings. “We know he’s well organized. Hyper methodical.” 

“No, no, no” Iris interrupts. She’s got her legs curled up under thighs, back pressed deep into the oversized armchair in which she’s sitting, and Barry doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so beautiful. “I mean what do you think he’s  _ like _ ? If he were here right now, what do you think he’d order?” 

Barry frowns. “I don’t know,” he says. “Coffee?” 

“Oh, come on, Barry,” Iris grumbles. 

“Okay, okay,” Barry chuckles. “I’ll play.” He shifts back into his own armchair as he contemplates his answer. “I think he’d order a chai tea,” he says finally. “Steeped extra long so the cinnamon and the ginger almost burn. He’d probably take it black, with a touch of sugar.” 

“Agave,” Iris cuts in, and Barry tilts his head uncertainly. “He’d use agave instead,” she explains. “It’s better for you.” 

Barry smiles. “Okay,” he agrees. “Agave. And then he’d find a seat, something close to the door, with a view of the whole room, and he’d just… sip.” 

“I think he likes jazz music,” Iris says after a moment of companionable silence. “And Panic! At The Disco. Which seems like a contradiction, but I don’t think it is.” 

“Or maybe he’s just a very contradictory man,” Barry offers. 

Softly, Iris sighs. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe he is.” 

Barry says nothing in reply, but it’s at that exact moment he realizes he’s fallen in love with her. 

It’s another two months before he tells her as much. Work has him stressed beyond belief, and it doesn’t help that, even with the algorithm up and running, he still has no leads on who Captain Cold is. 

“You’re doing good work, son,” Agent West says one afternoon as Barry stands in front of an alarmingly bare case board chewing his lips raw. 

“He’s a slippery bastard,” West continues. “But one of these days, he’s gonna slip in our favour.” 

Barry isn’t so sure, but he tries not to let it get to him. There are plenty of other cases to keep him busy, and on the nights where he really can’t shake Cold, he stays up with Iris and they talk it over together. First, he’s only spending a few nights at her place, but then suddenly her place becomes their place, and their place gets a dog. 

“His name is Scarlet Speedster,” Iris announces proudly when Barry comes home one day to find a retired racing greyhound lying under their kitchen table. 

And Barry wants to be mad that she hadn’t bothered asking, but they’ve talked about getting a dog so many times all he can be is ectatic. They go for an extended walk in the park that night, and Iris asks him about the Captian Cold case. 

“I keep thinking you were right about the algorithm,” Barry says. Scarlet tugs insistently at his leash as a squirrel scurries through the dried leaves just off the walking trail, but Barry’s grip never falters. “Cold doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who does things for no reason. And while, admittedly, money is usually a good enough reason for thieves, I still feel like there’s more to it. Otherwise we would have caught him by now, wouldn’t we? I mean, we’d at least have a half-decent lead.” 

Iris takes a moment to consider this. “Well,” she says. “What kind of events have you been looking for?” 

“Everything,” Barry grumbles. “Concerts, and fan conventions, and academic conferences. Sports games - football, baseball, soccer - you name it.” 

“So maybe it’s not a big-scale event,” Iris offers. “Maybe it’s something more personal.” 

Barry’s brow furrows. “Personal?” he parrots. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know,” Iris says. “Maybe what he’s following isn’t an event but an individual.” 

“Seriously?” Barry groans. “You mean like a person? How are we supposed to track that? Do you know how many people there are?” 

Iris scoffs. “I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.” 

“Seven billion, Iris,” Barry replies anyway. 

“Well,” Iris says. “He’s not following you, and he’s not following me, and he’s definitely not following himself, so it’s actually more like seven billion minus three.” 

Barry glares at her. “That’s not funny,” he says. 

“Seems funny from where I’m standing,” she replies before leaning in and stealing a kiss that wipes the sour expression clean off Barry’s face. 

Still, her theory sticks with him, and he spends the next few weeks brainstorming a list of people Captain Cold could potentially be following. An obvious possibility that comes to mind is a girlfriend, but that doesn’t seem to sit quite right with Barry for some reason. The next most obvious possibility is family, and while he thinks that definitely fits better with his understanding of Cold’s character, it still does nothing to help him. 

“Do you know how many people there are?” Cisco balks when Barry runs the theory by him for the first time. 

“Yeah, I had a similar reaction at first, too,” he chuckles. He claps Cisco goodnaturedly on the shoulder and gives him the biggest puppy-dog-eyes he can manage. He’s picked up a thing or two from Scarlet, who swiftly put an end to the no-doggies-on-the-bed rule, and Cisco folds like a house of cards. 

“I’ll do what I can,” he agrees with a long-suffering sigh, and Barry practically beams. 

“Thanks, dude,” he says. “You’re a genius. I believe in you.” 

Only it isn’t Cisco’s genius that comes through first. It’s Captain Cold, with another heist. By the time Barry and his team of agents arrives on scene, Cold’s already absconded with eight million dollars worth in diamonds and other precious gems. 

“Are we even sure it was him?” Caitlin asks as she and Barry walk the crime scene. Everything is in pristine order, which is the first clue. The only thing Barry knows for sure about Cold is that he’s above the classic smash and grab. 

The second clue, though, is more obvious. 

“He left a note,” Barry says. Holding out a hand, he gestures for a young crime scene tech to pass over an evidence bag containing a small message expertly calligraphed on thick cardstock. 

“ _ Better luck next time, Agent Allen _ ,” Caitlin reads. 

Barry sighs and shakes his head. “This is just great,” he grumbles. “The guy I’m chasing knows more about me than I do about him.” 

“He signed it  _ XOXO Captain Cold _ ,” Caitlin continues. “I wonder if he’s being tongue-in-cheek, or if he genuinely doesn’t know that that’s a  _ Gossip Girl _ reference.” 

“That’s the first thing that jumps out at you?” Barry asks. 

Caitlin shrugs. 

But it does get Barry thinking. 

“I think the person Cold is following is a younger sister. Maybe a niece or a daughter,” he tells Cisco once he and Caitlin get back to the office. West is watching him, considering, and raw nerves flutter in Barry’s stomach as he tries to make a good impression on the man he hopes to one day call his father-in-law. 

Not that he’s discussed that particular detail with Iris yet. 

“What makes you think that?” Cisco wonders. 

“Call it a hunch,” Barry replies. 

Caitlin scoffs. “Cold quoted  _ Gossip Girl _ ,” she furthers. 

Cisco shoots Barry an affronted look. “Dude,” he says. “That doesn’t prove anything! I love  _ Gossip Girl _ .” 

“Okay,” Caitlin teases. “So maybe it’s a geeky younger  _ brother _ .” 

“Could you just narrow the search window to look for women,” Barry pleads. “Probably between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. It can’t hurt, right?”

Cisco shrugs. “Okay, man,” he says. “You’re hunches are usually pretty solid. It’s gonna take a couple hours, though.” 

A small smile pulls at the corners of Barry’s mouth. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’ve got a date.”

Cailin smiles and touches Barry gently on the shoulder. Cisco let’s out a wolf whistle he regrets the second he remembers that Barry’s date is the boss’ daughter. It’s a funny anecdote Barry shares with Iris as the waiter arrives at the table with their wine later that evening. 

“So you really think you have him?” Iris asks as she swirls the deep red liquid around the high sides of its glass. 

Barry shrugs. “I think it’s a start,” he says. “Which is about all I can ask for, at this point. Short of Cold just waltzing up to the White Collar office and turning himself in, I don’t know how I’m ever gonna track him down. It’s not even like he’s just good. He’s an  _ artist _ , Iris.” 

Iris places a warm, comforting hand atop his own across the table. “You will, Barry,” she says. “Just give it time.” 

As it turns out, all the time he needs is about twelve hours for Cisco’s algorithm to finally yield a result. 

“Women’s figure skating,” is the first thing Cisco says to Barry when he walks into the office the next morning, and Barry frowns. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Women’s figure skating,” Cisco repeats. “There’s some kind of event or competition going on in the same city  _ every time _ Cold steals something.” 

Immediately, Barry perks up. “Any skaters in all the events?” he asks. 

“Just one,” Cisco replies. He swivels his desktop monitor in place and shows Barry a picture of a beautiful woman with golden brown hair pirouetting on the ice. “Lisa Snart.” 

After a bit more digging, they find an address for Lisa, an upscale penthouse in Central City, right downtown. They pay her a visit, but she’s less than helpful, offering them half-hearted shrugs, and  _ ‘I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about’ _ s, and no shortage of shameless flirting for Cisco. 

Still, records don’t lie. 

“We think his name is Leonard Snart,” Barry tells Iris when he gets home that evening. Iris insists on opening the bottle of champagne they’ve been keeping under the sink for a special occasion, and while Barry thinks finding a potential suspect hardly qualifies, he doesn’t dare say as much, stomach filling with butterflies as he watches Iris’ face light up ecstatically.  

“I knew you’d do it,” she says as she pours the effervescing liquid into two mismatched mugs from the cupboard. 

Barry chuckles. “I’ve hardly  _ done it _ ,” he replies. “Actually, I’m pretty sure the only thing I managed to do today was tip Snart off to the fact that we’re getting close. I mean, we have people watching his sister, but I think she’s too smart to lead us to him.” 

“All in good time,” Iris assures him. 

Barry fidgets nervously in his seat. “Speaking of good time,” he says. “I’ve been setting aside some money lately. And I’ve been giving a lot of thought as to how I should spend it.” 

Curiously, Iris’ head tilts sideways. 

“And I thought,” Barry continues. “That maybe it would be nice if we spent it together. Like, maybe on a house?” 

Immediately, Iris is smiling, and Barry knows her answer before she even has a chance to speak.

The next few months are hectic, visiting banks and looking at properties, all the while trying to solve the enigma of Leonard Snart. Eventually, Barry and Iris settle on a quaint little townhouse on the city’s East Side, four blocks away from a nice dog park for Scarlet, and two block away from an even nicer elementary school. 

One night, a few days after they’ve officially moved in, Barry comes home with a briefcase full of Leonard Snart’s files. Iris is in the kitchen, feet bare, hair tied up, making stir-fried vegetables as soft jazz music plays in the background. Scarlet’s curled up at her feet, waiting anxiously for something - anything - to drop, and Barry chuckles fondly. 

“Good day?” Iris asks over the sound of sizzling peppers. 

Barry shrugs. “I guess,” he replies. He sits down at the island, perched high on a stool, and pulls out Snart’s files. “I just feel like I’m on the brink of something, you know? Something I can’t quite crack?” 

“You want a second set of eyes?” Iris offers. 

And so, they sit together for hours, first picking pieces of broccoli and snap peas directly from the wok, then moving on to the bottle of chardonnay Caitlin gave them as a housewarming present. By three o’clock, both Iris and Barry are tired and rumpled, but they fight heavy eyelids in favour of analyzing the files. 

“This would be a lot easier if Snart wasn’t so  _ good  _ at what he does,” Barry complains, rubbing at his eyes as his vision starts to blur. 

“Len,” Iris corrects, and Barry frowns. 

“What?” 

Iris shrugs. “All this time we’ve spent getting to know him,” she explains. “I think we should call him Len.” 

And while Barry knows it’s asking for trouble, playing with fire, he doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks at Iris with soft, dopey eyes and grins. 

“Marry me,” Barry says, and Iris freezes mid-way through flipping pages. She recovers quickly, though, and the first thing she does is beam. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that would be nice.” 

So they go from buying a house to buying an engagement ring. And if West gives Barry the tiniest little glare the morning after he proposes - for not asking for his permission, Barry assumes, or maybe for being too spontaneous and not having a ring in the first place - it does nothing to drag Barry down from his high. It takes a few weeks for it to wane at all, and when it finally does, it’s quickly replaced with another. 

Finally, Barry catches up to Leonard Snart. 

Snart is, in a strange way, both everything and nothing like Barry expected. He’s stoic, and observant, and methodical like any thief worth their salt, but he looks tired, too, in a way Barry hadn’t expected. 

“Well,” Snart drawls. “This was fun while it lasted, Barry.” 

Barry has him backed into a corner in a self-storage lot, gun trained in his direction. But Snart doesn’t run. Doesn’t put up a fight. All he does is hold his wrists out in silent offering. Cautiously, Barry holsters his gun, then reaches for his handcuffs before approaching the thief. 

“Why are you making this so easy?” Barry asks, the words almost a whisper, as he draws closer. 

Snart raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Is that what you’d call the last two years?” he challenges. 

The handcuffs lock into place around Snart’s wrists, the scrape of metal against metal roaring like thunder in the confined space between them. Snart keeps looking at Barry, holding his eyes intensly, and a shock of heat races through Barry’s body. 

“What are you doing?” Barry asks, trying to hide the way Snart’s gaze makes him shiver. Given that his hands are still wrapped around Snart’s wrists, he doesn’t think he succeeds.  

Barry’s backup arrives before Snart can answer. A sudden wash of cold runs up his spine as the intimacy of the moment is shattered. Still, Barry can’t take his eyes off Snart, even as another agent arrives to cart him away. 

“Smug bastard says he wants to make a deal,” Agent West grumbles later that afternoon as the agents stare down Snart and his lawyer behind a pane of one way glass. 

Cisco scoffs. “Like that’s gonna happen,” he says. “We have him dead to rights. I mean, he was arrested at the storage facility where he kept all his loot.” 

“Some of his loot,” Caitlin corrects. “And the only thing we have him on for sure is possession of stolen property. That’s three years, maybe four.” 

“Unless we can tie the original thefts back to him,” Cisco reminds her, though Caitlin still doesn’t seem sold. 

She shakes her head. “Which may never happen.” 

“I think Snart could be a really great asset.” 

Barry isn’t sure what makes him say it, but he does, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, there’s no taking them back. 

“What?” West asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing anyone wants is for their boss to look at them like they’re an idiot, especially when said boss is about to become their father-in-law, but it’s the situation Barry’s found himself in. 

“We could always use Snart as a Criminal Informant,” Barry explains, trying to keep his voice from shaking the way his legs are in the confines of his cheap suit. “There’s precedence.”

And while it doesn’t come without some pretty substantial convincing on Barry’s part, he eventually sells Agent West on the idea. 

“On one condition,” West adds, and Barry feels the sweet excitement of victory slipping through his fingers. “He’s your responsibility.” 

West means liability, of course, and it makes Barry’s stomach churn, but he agrees nonetheless. There’s something about Snart, something just behind the façade, that Barry wants to see more of. 

“There’s good in him,” Barry tells Iris later that night as they lie together, naked limbs intertwined, under the heavy down covers of their bed. “He could have run, could have tried to hurt me, but he didn’t. It’s like a part of him wanted to get caught.” 

“I’m really proud of you,” Iris whispers. Their noses brush gently, and it makes Barry’s toes curl. “I always knew you’d get your guy.” 

Barry rides that excitement into the next week, wading through the monotony of paperwork, stern warnings from Agent West, and not-so-gentle razzing from his colleagues. When he finally arrives at Iron Heights, all the gibes of  _ Agent Babysitter _ and  _ Manny Allen _ fade to the back of his mind. 

Seeing Snart again is every bit as electric as it was the first time. When Barry locks the tracking anklet around the lean tendons of Snart’s left ankle, his fingers shake as badly as they did when it was handcuffs. 

Still, Barry tries to act tough, like the authority figure, because he is the authority figure, God damn it! He gives Snart the lecture about trying to escape, about double crossing him, and why that’s not a good idea. He can spend the next three years behind bars, or he can do it out in the open, in the city he loves where his sister also happens to live. 

And Snart is keen to agree. He’s not stupid, Barry decides. He doesn’t want to spend three years of his life in jail. 

But he also doesn’t to want to spend three years living in a ground level studio apartment that may or may not have black mold, either, Barry soon discovers. 

“Where did you get that?” Barry asks, barely suppressing a wave of blind panic when Snart comes in the next morning in a well-tailored suit and platinum cufflinks. 

Snart smirks, and it’s charming and infuriating in equal measure. “You said if I could find something within the two mile radius of my anklet for the same price, I was more than welcome to secure my own accommodations.” 

Which is how Barry meets Clarissa Stein, a widow whose husband was once a well respected crime boss in Central. She’s offered Snart a lavish apartment on the top floor of her estate downtown - along with her late husband’s entire wardrobe - free of charge for the sake of sharing her home with a criminal genius once more. 

A fact that worries Barry, definitely, but he eventually lets it slide. 

Over the next few weeks, Bary and Snart establish a clean, concise working order. They solve cases, put away bad guys, build a rapport. They make an incredible team, Barry the voice of the law, keeping Snart as honest as a man like Snart can be, Snart, all the while, pushing Barry to approach problems from devious if barely legal angels he would never otherwise consider. 

There’s another rapport building, Barry knows. Something personal, and intimate, and dangerous. He can tell Snart senses it too, can feel it in the heat of Snart’s gaze, in the casual touches he reserves only for Barry. And Barry gives as good as he gets, dropping a hand on Snart’s shoulder, against the back of his neck, around the thin bones of his wrist. 

Still, it’s easy for Barry to play it all off as casual, if he shoves it far enough into the back of his mind, tamps down the niggling little whispers of his conscience with enough force. It’s even easier coming home to Iris every night. She’s familiarity and passion and his  _ fiancée _ , for God’s sake. The deep brown of her eyes overtakes Barry’s visions of crystalline blue, and it’s the only respite he gets from the unusual tightness in his chest, turning his stomach to knots as making it so unbelievably hard to breathe. 

Still, it’s a respite that can’t last forever. 

“We should take this back to my place,” Barry says one evening, a little after nine. The office is empty, junior and senior agents alike out enjoying the start of their weekends, but the file open on Barry’s desk isn’t getting anywhere, and he’s never been one to call anything quits before seeing it through. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Snart replies, dry and measured. 

And while Barry’s offer is nothing short of straightforward, the conscious intent benign, like every look and every touch that’s led up to it, Barry’s whole body tenses the second Snart speaks. Because there’s a line, and inviting Snart home turns that line into a tightrope. 

“I’m sure you and your fiancée have plans,” Snart adds. 

_ Iris _ . 

That pulls Barry back to reality. There is no line, no boundary he’s overstepping. He’s asking a colleague to continue their work in an environment more comfortable than fluorescent lights and bargain brand swivel chairs can provide. He’s made the same offer to Cisco and Caitlin time and time again. It’s all above board, nothing short of professional. 

So, they do go back to Barry’s place, and immediately, they’re greeted at the door by an overexcited Scarlet and Iris’ voice floating in from the kitchen. 

“Hi, hon. How was your day?” 

Iris enters the room as she speaks, hair pulled up in a messy bun, ballpoint pen perched behind her ear. She looks as beautiful in a pair of ratty snowflake pajama pants as she does a curve-hugging cocktail dress, and Barry takes a moment to be breathless. 

But Iris isn’t looking at Barry. Instead, her eyes are fixed on Snart, who’s staring right back while absently running a hand through the fur at the top of Scarlet’s head. Iris smiles and Snart doesn’t quite reciprocate, but his expression takes on a decidedly wistful quality. 

“You must be Len,” Iris says, stepping forward to shake his hand. “Or do you prefer Leonard? That’s just what Barry and I have been calling you.” 

Snart’s eyebrows knit together, and her gives Barry a curious look. “Oh, really?” he drawls. “Because I’ve only ever heard him call me Snart.” 

Barry flushes. “Do you want me to call you Leonard?” he asks. 

Snart smirks. “Len’s fine.” 

From there, they take their work into the kitchen. Iris grabs a quart of pistachio ice cream from the freezer and three spoons, then closes her laptop in favour of helping Barry and Len with the case. 

It’s a pattern that continues in the weeks to come, spending their evenings sharing food or wine - or most often both. Some nights they work on FBI cases, others on research for Iris’ articles. Then there are the nights when they do neither, instead taking Scarlet for a walk in the dog park, or going out to a jazz club downtown with Clarissa, who used to be something of a star in her day.

Most of all, though, Barry likes the nights where they put on a documentary, or some artsy foreign film that’s really more Iris and Len’s style, and curl up on the couch together. Each body is warm and heavy at Barry’s side, and it makes it so easy for him to forget the reality of their situation. That Len is a convicted felon, a thief and a liar, who’s only managed to stay out of prison because he’s Barry’s CI, Barry’s responsibility, Barry’s  _ subordinate _ . That Barry and Iris are getting married in four months, standing in front of all their family and friends and God and swearing to never love another person so long as they both shall live. 

It makes the tightness in Barry’s chest all the more oppressive to think about it.

So he tries not to think about it.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://asexual-fandom-queen.tumblr.com/)!


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